Unsafe and unbelievable, watching the gaming board members who'll make decisions that'll haunt this city for a long time. Seven board members now have near complete authority over who builds what, where and how. They will decide which highways will be congested, and which communities will be clogged. They will say who gets the contracts, and to a certain degree, how Philadelphians will be employed. The Big Seven will have a massive influence on Philadelphia's future. And they needn't entertain any further advice from us—because they said so.

As of June 2, the Pennsylvania Gaming Control Board members decreed that ordinary citizens will have no further say in their official proceedings. Period. It is an unparalleled outrage. In 1978, when casinos were built in Atlantic City, a multitude of Jerseyites exercised their right to address their commissioners. In Jersey today, people are still regularly heard, and their testimony is made part of the official record.

But Pennsylvania gaming officials have apparently declared their independence, and they're betting that they can shut us down behind a wall of contempt.

Which is why, toward the end of this meeting, several Philadelphians stood up. Not to be heard about substantive issues of transportation, sustainability, aesthetics or employment. But to protest the people's impotence. Matt Rubin, Jethro Heiko and Anne Dicker stood up and each politely—albeit illegally—asked to enter their protest into the official record. Others, like me, got ready. But the board declared a recess, as security pushed through the crowd.

When the meeting reconvened minutes later, the voice of Chairman Tad Decker was heard coming from loudspeakers via a phone hookup. Decker chose not to attend this meeting. But his disembodied voice still chided the Philadelphians for their "unprofessional" behavior.

"Unprofessional," Commissioner Decker? Here are people protesting that you've summarily cut off their say—and you dismiss them as "unprofessional"? Excuse my unprofessional response, but fuck you, sir, for your utter contempt of basic democratic rights.

Just how much contempt does Decker's board have? Let us count the ways. In Jersey—apparently now a paragon of civil rights—not only can one be heard by commissioners, people also have the right to know the specifics on the agenda. But not in Pennsylvania. Want to come watch when the gaming board plants a casino in your neighborhood? You won't find it listed on their Web site.

How about the contempt that makes a mockery of public hearings? In April, the commissioners held meetings before anyone knew where casinos would be built, much less what they'd look like. But these public meetings—the only ones planned—took place before traffic and economic impacts were completed.

No meaningful published agenda, no speaking at meetings, no further public input to the official evidentiary record. Your letters, faxes and e-mails can go into the circular file.

What to do? Let's remember those who still have to listen: Gov. Rendell, who effectively misled us with a confusing and ultimately bogus riverfront building moratorium. Despite initial newspaper reports to the contrary, his moratorium will have no effect on the casino juggernaut. Rendell is up for re-election; ask him why he's taking away your voice.

Ask Sen. Vince Fumo, who's now trying to ram through legislation that would exclude the state's casinos from local zoning boards—giving us less say, still.

Grab the lapels of local state officials—Marie Lederer, Dwight Evans, Shirley Kitchen, Babette Josephs and Bill Keller—who slept while the casino legislation slipped through. E-mail them all on www.hallwatch.org.

Politicos are wagering that the board's contempt will silence us. And it's a good bet, unless we speak up now. Otherwise, we'll find ourselves talking to Chairman Decker's hand: the one with the index finger in the air.